


the nature of infinity - ✄ - a victor frankenstein x reader story.

by beaumorte



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Penny Dreadful (TV), Penny Dreadful (TV) RPF
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Historical, Horror, Literary References & Allusions, London, Period-Typical Sexism, Vampires, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaumorte/pseuds/beaumorte
Summary: "Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark; and shares the nature of infinity."-William Wordsworth- - - ✄ - - -Following a bizarre and devastating family tragedy, resilient Y/N attempts to gather up the scattered remnants of her life and relocates to the city of London in search of new opportunities and a fresh start. The reality of her new home, however, was far less picturesque than what she'd imagined. Not only riddled with sickness and poverty, the cobblestone streets of 1890's London were also ripe with something else-- murder. Through a series of events (equally fortunate and unfortunate) our young protagonist finds herself tangled up in the sordid lives of six individuals, and subsequently becomes ensnared in their web of unfathomable horrors and arcane mysteries beyond the realm of humanly knowledge. All, of course, beginning with a chance encounter with a certain young mad scientist.
Relationships: Dorian Gray/You, Ethan Chandler/Dorian Gray, Ethan Chandler/Vanessa Ives, Victor Frankenstein/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	the nature of infinity - ✄ - a victor frankenstein x reader story.

It was late April in London of 1891 and the weather lingered somewhere between a memory of the bitter winter's cold and the promise of spring. Clouds dappled the dark sky overhead, not quite threatening rain, but still ominously shrouding the half-moon that loomed above the city. The night air was still sightly crisp with winter and sent a chill over Victor's neck as he stepped from the carriage, followed by his companion for the evening, Sir Malcolm Murray. The young doctor wasn't entirely sure why he'd even accepted this invitation-- it certainly wasn't his usual type of affair. Perhaps the notion of trading thoughts and philosophies with a few of the other great minds of London is what had tempted him, though a naturalist he was not. Perhaps it was just better than spending yet another Friday evening in his laboratory alone. 

"I appreciate you accompanying me this evening," Sir Malcolm spoke in his usual unshakable tone as the two men ascended the steps leading up to the townhouse, he himself stopping short just before the door to smooth the sleeves of his coat. He reached up and brought the brass knocker down on the door four times in steady succession. "The Zoological Society of London isn't the most bacchanalian of crowds, as you can imagine. One can only listen to these men argue over the reproductive habits of orangutans for so long before descending into madness." 

Victor could discern a small, warm grim beneath Sir Malcolm's scruff and even managed a breathy chuckle himself, attempting to brush off his nervousness as a cummerbund-clad butler swung the door open and greeted them. 

The manor was larger than it appeared from the outside-- lavishly decorated with dripping white candles resting upon brass sticks and gold swags of brocade that hung from every available banister. Grandiloquent, though a bit gaudy, to be sure; it wasn't clear whether this was just for the occasion, or if the lady of the house just had a nostalgic taste for the rather sumptuous french rococo style of the last century. 

The turnout was not unlike what Victor had envisioned; bearded men in crisp suits with frilly swan-necked ladies perched on their arms, exchanging pleasantries with their fellow educated man. Former colleagues, reunited for the evening, pair themselves off in twos and retreat into quiet corners to trade accounts of exploration and discovery; meanwhile, wives of the many scientists and noblemen, predominantly society ladies, chat enthusiastically with one another at round tables draped in ivory before making their rounds about the room. During which time, they'd sidle up to their husbands at various points mid-conversation and make sure to laugh convincingly at all their wisecracks and humorous anecdotes from behind silk-gloved hands. 

Needless to say, in this world, one of wealthy dilettantes and self-important scholars, Dr. Frankenstein felt absolutely alien. 

Upon entering, Sir Malcolm was almost immediately bombarded by two stiff-collared men and their wives, eager to catch up and hear of his latest expedition plans. Mr. Murray was something of a living myth in this community, so all the attention came as no surprise. He was warm and courteous to them, of course, but still preserved a sense of emotional distance-- which undoubtedly only created a more enticing air of mystery about him. 

"I'd like you both to meet my colleague, Dr. Victor Frankenstein," Sir Malcolm began, snapping Victor's wandering mind back into attention. He nodded to the gentlemen, shaking both of their hands out of courtesy. 

"A medical doctor?" The older one inquired, raising his tufted gray eyebrows, which combined with his silvery sideburns made him resemble some kind of horned owl. Victor nodded slowly, slightly bemused by the gentleman's characteristically astute observation. 

"Yes, that's right."

"Oh, how brilliant!" his wife chimed in, a rather buxom woman with red cheeks and straw-colored hair, smiling a bit too widely as she clung to her husband's arm. They continued to ask Victor a few more questions about his occupation with poorly hidden false interest before redirecting their attention to Sir Malcolm and his plans for Africa. He didn't care, though. In fact, he was hardly listening; his attention had been captured by something else entirely. 

All alone, on the arm of no one, indulging no grandiose tales, stood a young woman in a pale blue dress. She held a mostly-full champagne flute with both hands, swathed beneath the cage of her delicate fingers. She sipped idly from it every now and then, seemingly a bit nervous, as though it were her first time tasting it and she would surely be caught by a chaperoning adult at any moment. There was something, in fact, childlike about her-- perhaps something in the coiffure of her hair, or the pout of her lips-- but she had eyes that spoke of a far sadder kind of beauty; the unfortunate wisdom that often accompanies tragedy. 

Victor was completely enamored, so much so that he nearly jumped when Sir Malcolm gently nudged him with his elbow. He was hastily excised from his dream-like trance and swiftly reminded, much to his embarrassment, that he was shamelessly gawking at an actual living woman and not an angelic manifestation of his subconscious. An older woman approached the girl and struck up a conversation with her, further affirming her corporeality. 

"Would you like me to introduce you?" Sir Malcolm asked, partially in jest, though he was half-serious. "Her name is Miss Y/N L/N. I worked with her father many moons ago."

Victor immediately felt the blood in his cheeks heating up and he began to sputter. "I, uh, no, no that's alright." 

Sir Malcolm only grinned, a devilish glint in his wise old eyes, ushering Victor across the room to where she stood. The young scientist did genuinely try to put up a fight, politely declining at first, and then with increasingly insistent refusal, all the while Mr. Murray continued to reassure him that it really was no trouble at all. The old chap surely got a kick out of it. 

The young woman quickly paused her conversation when she spotted them approaching, a combined expression of excitement and relief washing over her delicate features as though this moment is what she had been looking forward to all evening. 

"Sir Malcolm!" you chirped at the sight of him, eagerly taking his hand at first, but after a brief moment of consideration, pulling him into a long-awaited embrace. He accepted it with a hearty chuckle and salutation. You were genuinely delighted to see the old explorer again-- he and your father had worked together for some time when you were a child, and you fondly recall his visits to your home in Kent whenever he needed some exotic specimens appraised. He was kind to you, and you would often imagine that he was the uncle you'd never had. Truth be told, you didn't know him terribly well-- he was a man of a rather unforthcoming nature-- but you so adoringly remembered him as having the greatest stories of any of the globetrotting naturalists who called upon your home. Besides your father himself, of course. 

"It's so wonderful to see you again," you paused, stepping back from the hug, now lowering your voice and speaking with a cadence more appropriately grave. "I... I can't tell you how terribly sorry I am to hear about your-"

"You as well, my dear. I'm afraid this is a sorry time for all of us." He stopped you short, still holding your hand and giving it a gentle pat. You nodded and returned him with a tender grin. By now, you had gotten used to the many empty condolences offered to you in superfluity during the past few months, not to mention at this stuffy old function in particular-- your father was well-loved in the scientific community, of course, and news of what happened had spread like vicious wildfire. Hearing it from Mr. Murray, however, a beloved character from your childhood, stirred something within your heart; it held genuine meaning to you. You knew he truly meant it, and was not just offering some kind and pretty words solely or the sake of keeping up appearances. 

After your sweet moment of reunion subsided, you recovered your manners and your attention shifted to Mr. Murray's companion; a tall, handsome young man, with a gentle disposition and eyes that, though strikingly beautiful, appeared much older and much wearier than the rest of him. He seemed a bit discomposed, perhaps not the type for this sort of affair, and neglected to introduce himself which in turn incited Malcolm to pick up his slack. 

"Oh, Y/N, I'd like for you to meet my, uh... colleague, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Victor, Miss Y/N L/N."

You extended your hand to the young man, which he gingerly accepted with a warm and slightly clammy hand. His cheeks were still flushed with a bit of peachy embarrassment. 

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Likewise, Miss L/N." 

There was a moment of silence as the two of you looked at each other, your hands lingering together for just a moment too long before parting. Then, as if on cue, another bespectacled scientist approached Sir Malcolm, requesting to steal him away for what was likely to be a rather one-sided chat. He kindly obliged, carefully shifting his gaze from you to Victor with the slightest trace of satisfaction discernible in the creases of his face.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I hope you'll excuse me for a moment," the old explorer apologized before slipping away with a shorter white-haired gentleman. There was it was again-- that guileful twinkle in his eye. 

There was another moment of silence now, different from the one before; sans the mature presence of Sir Malcolm, you and the young doctor had inexplicably regressed into fumbling schoolchildren, now so sweetly and painfully timid. The sudden air of awkwardness caused him to shift his weight and you to apprehensively tap your fingernails on the glass in your hands. Mustering up some courage at last, you finally cleared your throat. 

"Are you a biologist, then?"

"Oh, no," he breathed, seeming floored by the notion. "A medical doctor."

"I see." You surveyed him carefully for a moment before speaking again. "I don't suspect this is your sort of thing, hm?" you asked him, composedly sipping your drink.

He cocked an eyebrow, now looking directly at your face for the first time since you'd been introduced. "What on earth could have given it away?" 

You chuckled. "I know the look. I undoubtedly had the same one the first time my father dragged me to one of these things," you began to trail, letting your eyes drift and take stock of the room. You then shrugged, redirecting your focus back to him. "Yet here I am today!"

"Yet here we both are, it would seem," A ghost of a smile wandered onto Victor's lips as he watched you speak. "Why subject yourself to it then, if it's so burdensome?"

"Some burdens we simply must carry," you replied, falling a bit stoic for a moment before an idea occurred to you, illuminating your expression. "Would you like to take a walk with me, Dr. Frankenstein?" 

He hesitated, slightly flustered again, but recovered himself and accepted your proposal with all the suaveness he could afford. "I would be delighted, Miss L/N."

With that, he offered you his arm, and the two of you cut across the otherwise vacant dance floor. Ordinarily, you would have never done something so bold as this; but there was something innately trustworthy about the young scientist you had just become acquainted with. Something almost sweetly boyish and innocent. And of course seeing as you both were the reluctant guests of absent attendees, he left to his own devices by Sir Malcolm and you merely attending in your late father's memory, the pair of you were immediately kindred in your mutual suffering. 

Compared to the stifling atmosphere inside the manor, the night air felt refreshing against your skin and smelled sweetly of early-blooming lilies that furnished the garden out back. The pair of you walked quietly for a bit, both simply enjoying the silent company of another-- and both equally unsure of what to say. This was just so out of character for you, though you had to admit that it did incite a rather exhilarating air of possibility; your heart was hammering at full tilt inside of your ribs. You wondered if his was too. 

"So.. I take it you're not a naturalist either?" he inferred. 

You pulled your head back to look at him, feigning offense with a playfully exaggerated scoff and an impish grin. "And what ever would give you that impression? Because I'm a woman?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, no, I didn't mean to--"

"Relax, doctor," you giggled, placing your hand on his arm. "I'm only joking. No, I'm no scientist. Though I once held hopes of becoming one."

"And what happened to these hopes?"

"Oh, what always happens. Life has other plans." You looked down now, kicking up little white stones with the toe of your boot. "What about you, Doctor? You're terribly mysterious."

He laughed breathily at the notion of himself being perceived by _anyone_ as mysterious. Though he did not indulge her, perhaps to maintain this air of so-called mystery. 

"You may call me Victor," he instead supplied.

"Well alright, _Victor_. Now why won't you tell me what's eating away at your soul?" you teased.

"Ah, where to begin," he inhaled sharply, lifting his head up to look up at the dark expanse of the night sky. "I'm afraid there aren't enough hours in the evening."

"Fair enough. Tell me what feeds your soul, then."

He looked down at you on his arm now, this somewhat odd, albeit charming, young woman he'd only just met, with an expression of piqued curiosity. "Poetry," he finally said. 

"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere," you replied. 

For the remainder of the evening, you and he walked about the gardens, sitting upon the marble benches and strolling around the fountains. Hours melded one into the next until all track of time was lost on you. Nothing can last forever, of course, and eventually you had to bid your farewells to Sir Malcolm and other acquainted company meanwhile Victor, ever the gentleman, insisted on walking you home seeing as you didn't live far. And so the conversation lived on, ensuing without a dull moment to speak of. Though you both existed in very different worlds, you found much to talk about and shared a common language in literature. Victor, despite all appearances (and though he'd never consider himself such) was actually quite the sparkling conversationalist. He possessed a unique combination of soft-spoken mannerisms and acute matter-of-factness, with just a dash of cynicism for good measure. But under it all, he had a good, sensitive heart. A poet's heart. 

"Have you ever read Maupassant?" you asked him.

Victor shook his head slowly, curious. "I am afraid that I'm unfamiliar."

"Oh, he's really wonderful. If you ask me, no one does a short story quite like he does. Just don't tell Chekhov I said that," you quipped, and were satisfied for a moment that you'd earned a chuckle from the otherwise unemotive young man, under his breath though it was. "Either way, though, his prose his really lovely. Just the right amount of purple-- I tend to like mine a bit lilac, I suppose." 

"As do I," he turned his head to look at you as you strolled alongside him, and you could pick up half of his face illuminated by the pale moon in your periphery, though you dared not look. "I tend to like everything very straightforward _except_ my poetry. It should be... flowery. It should be verbose. Good poetry takes its time."

"A fan of Homer, then?"

He smiled. "More like Wordsworth."

"Ah, a man after my own heart," you cracked a warm grin as well, looking down so intently at the damp cobblestones as you walked that you almost neglected to notice that you, much to your lament, had arrived home. You slowed, looking up to see the large manor set back from the street by a tall iron gate, your quaint guest cottage resting just beyond it. The pair of you turned to face each other for the ever-dreaded awkward parting. You breathed a half-sigh. "Well, here we are."

"Right," Victor mimicked your sigh, stalling for a moment as he searched for the right words to say. They didn't seem to be coming to him, so you interjected so as to alleviate some of the pressure. 

"It was really lovely to meet you, Victor." You reached for his hand once again, holding it delicately in yours for just a moment as you bid him goodbye. 

"Likewise, Miss L/N."

"Please, call me Y/N." You found it in you to look him in his eyes now, welling up with a warm feeling of fondness for your newfound friend. "Goodnight, Victor."

"Well then, Miss Y/N. I bid you goodnight." He reluctantly released your hand, and you unlatched the gate and slipped inside, starting up the short driveway to the manor. After a moment, and by which time you were some distance away, you heard him call after you, causing you to stop and turn around. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yes, Victor?"

He hesitated.

"Will I see you again?" he asked. 

Slowly, a smile crept onto your lips; the inescapable kind, the kind that heats up your entire face and makes your stomach tie itself up into fluttery knots. "I hope so."

He smiled widely back at you, and the pair of you stood there in the darkness for a few long moments on opposite sides of the tall iron gate. He then took a few steps backwards, still smiling to himself as he turned on his heel to start on his way home. And with that, you turned back around and headed inside for the night.


End file.
